The Dreams Within
by Feather Head
Summary: (updated May 24, 2002) All that we may see or seem, is but a dream within a dream. --Edgar Allen Poe
1. Chaos at Quality Quidditch Supplies

Seeing Double

By: Red, the Feathery

Disclaimer: nada. 

A/N: And the action packed, confusing as hell chapter! What happened to Harry? Or is it Harry? R/R/R (read, review, recommend ^_^)

Chapter Two: Chaos at Quality Quidditch Supplies

**

Life at the Weasley house was busy at its best. The summer was rather hectic, after Percy moved out. Mrs. Weasley was realizing just how much help he was around the house. Fred and George, without anyone else to tease, were picking on poor Ron and Ginny. 

Ginny was acting peculiarly this summer, also. She had up and decided she _didn't _want to be a redheaded Weasley anymore and changed. Everything. She dyed her hair, from red to light greenish-blue. Mrs. Weasley almost fainted when she first saw it. Her loose and casual clothes became more rebel-like. Mrs. Weasley exclaimed that next she would be dating a Slytherin. Ginny decided it was worth the change; for her parents and brothers noticed her now, she wasn't the quiet, shy Weasley any longer. 

Fred and George seemed to acquire money for their joke shop, much to Mrs. Weasley's dismay. They often flaunted around the house, exploding vase, tables, chairs, and, least of all, people. All effects were temporary, thank Merlin, but it was enough to make the mother Weasley scream. Thus Fred and George had been grounded most of the summer. 

Ron seemed to grow taller by the day; he now was taller than anyone in the family—even Charlie. He'd spent most of his summer practicing to be the new Gryffindor Seeker, a position secretly wanted for years. He'd been so busy flying; he hadn't even got the chance to owl Harry or Hermione all summer. He hoped they wouldn't be entirely mad at him. 

Along with his father, Ron was worried about the time ahead. The Ministry of Magic's frequent denials that Voldemort was indeed _not_ back had to stop some time, didn't they? He felt bad for Harry; he couldn't imagine what his friend must be feeling. To have the whole world thinking you're a mad nutter when you were, actually, just trying to help them. It was just enough to make Ron want to run the entire Ministry himself. He firmly believed he could be better than the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, any day. 

The morning of August first, Mrs. Weasley called them all day stairs for breakfast exceptionally early. Ron, groaning about the hour, trudged down stairs in too-small pajamas and with tousled hair. His mother was placing sausages and toast on the table for Fred, George, Ginny, and himself as his father had left earlier that morning for work. "Ron," said Mrs. Weasley, "you haven't heard from Harry at all this summer, have you?" 

"No," said Ron, helping himself to three sausages and two pieces of toast. "I haven't. Why?" 

"Because," intercepted Ginny with a smirk. "Mum's _worried _about his _safety_." 

"Actually, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley with a glare. "I was planning to go over to Diagon Alley and I was wondering if Harry wanted to come with us." 

"Oh," said Ron, "Dumbledore gave Harry all of his fifth year supplies at the end of term." 

"Why didn't you mention that before, Ron?" 

"Because it never came up." 

"Are we really going to Diagon Alley?" said Fred with a grin. 

Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes. "Yes, we are." 

"Good," said Ginny, "I need a new quill. Pidwigeon chewed the end off of mine." She glared at Ron, who shrugged his shoulders through a bite of sausage. Pidwigeon was Ron's baby owl. He'd received him from Sirius Black after his old rat, Scabbers, had been revealed as a traitor. But no one was to know that.

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" said George with a sigh.

"Perhaps it's because Ron raised him," pondered Fred. 

"Why, Fred! You're a genius!" 

"Shut up, guys," said Ron dully. The truth was, he was suddenly feeling bad about not contacting Harry. _I mean, what kind of friend am I, anyway? _Here he was, relaxing and enjoying his summer with his family, and Harry was rotting in what was as close as you can get to hell. 

"Ron!" Ginny slapped him on the shoulder. 

"Oh. What?"

"It's time to leave." 

"But I'm not even finished with breakfast yet!" 

Diagon Alley was the place where the Weasley's always came to restore their supplies. Unless they were at Hogwarts, and then they just went to Hogsmeade, the local village. Today, as always, the small, cobbled street was filled from end-to-end with witches, wizards and even some Muggles (non-magic folk) helping their young ones pick out supplies. 

The moment the Weasleys' arrived chaos ensued.

"Mum! Can I go to Gladrags?!"

"Mum! I'm hungry!" 

"Can we go to Gambol and Japes?" 

"Hey! I'm hungry, can we get ice cream?" 

"_Quiet!_" All four children grew silent quickly. "Ginny, go to Flourish and Blotts-get a new quill. If we have time afterwards, you can go to Gladrags." Mrs. Weasley's tone clearly stated she didn't want there to be time afterwards. "Fred and George, go ahead. Ron, I need you to come with me. Help me pick out stuff." 

"But, _mum."_

"Come along, then," said Mrs. Weasley sternly as the other teens ran off to their other locations. Ron grumbled along behind his mother, kicking at the street with his feet grumpily.

Lucky for him, he ran into Seamus Finnigan, one of his fellow Gryffindors, half way to Madame Malkin's. With a pleading look at Seamus, the Irish boy grinned. "Ron!" he exclaimed with a thick Irish accent. "Just the Gryffindor I was lookin' for! Will you come with me to Quality Quidditch Supplies? I want some help picking out the right… er… gloves for flying! Yes, I need gloves for flying! Don't want blisters ya know." Grinning thanks at Seamus, Ron asked his mum if he could go. When she looked like she was going to say no, Ron already had a plan.

"_Mum!_ Seamus _needs_ my help! Look at his hands, why, they're so blistered!" Ron showed Mrs. Weasley Seamus' perfectly normal hands. "These hands need gloves!" Mrs. Weasley laughed.

"All right, all right, you can go." 

"Thanks, mum!" Ron ran off before his mother changed her mind. He stopped, panting and even hungrier, in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Thanks," he said to Seamus who followed him. 

"Nah problem," replied Seamus, "I gotta get back to me mum. Guess I'll see ya lata." With that, he turned to go. Ron entered Quality Quidditch Supplies with intention to look at the latest edition of Quidditch Quirks magazine. But someone standing near the broom section turned his attention—it was Harry!

"Harry!" he called, but Harry ignored him. Ron figured he couldn't hear him through the crowded shop. He walked over to Harry and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey," he said, smiling, and was about to fill Harry in about why he hadn't contacted him, but Harry cut him off.

"Can I help you?" Ron laughed. 

"Come on, Harry, don't ignore me, I'm sorry about not contacting you." 

"Who's Harry?" Ron stared at his best friend. He noticed Harry was taller, almost taller than himself. He filled out a bit, but other than that, Ron was sure this was Harry. His scar was unmistakable. "You're Harry, you dolt," said Ron, but was even more appalled when Harry replied. 

"No, I'm not," he said. Harry looked at him strangely. Ron was confused. This was Harry, who else would it be? Unless Harry had an identical twin or something… with the same scar, the same eyes, the same glasses….

"Then who are you?" he demanded of Harry, feeling lame and stupid. 

"I'm not sure I should tell you," Harry said suspiciously. "You could be a Minion for all I know." 

"A what?" 

"A Minion, silly. Don't tell me you don't know what a Minion is." Harry's eyes were amused, but Ron clearly had _no_ idea what a 'Minion' was. "Er — sorry," he said. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

Harry rolled his eyes in a very unHarrylike manner. "A Minion is a dark wizard who serves Morculum, dolt," he said very slowly, in a mocking way. 

"You've _lost _it, Harry." Ron was perplexed to say the least—what happened to Harry? Why was he acting like this? Didn't Harry know who he was? _Wait,_ he thought_, _trying to secure himself more than anything, _of course Harry knows who you are. Why wouldn't he? _

With out another word (or thought) Ron grabbed Harry's wrist and dragged him out of the store. "What the hell do you think your—oof!" said Harry, who tripped on the doorframe and had to steady himself. As soon as he did, however, Ron pulled him along again. "Where are we going?" demanded Harry. Ron suddenly spotted his mum's red hair through the crowds. He was about to call out her name when a voice from behind him spoke first. 

"Well, well," said Draco Malfoy, "if it isn't potty and the Weasel." 

"Bugger off, Malfoy," said Ron without looking back. 

"Weasley, your comments get more original each time I see you." 

"And yours get more annoying."  

"I try," Malfoy smirked sarcastically.

"I'm _so _glad for you." 

"Well, shouldn't you be?" Ron's face was beet red. He glanced at Harry, silently begging for him to save him in this conversation he was desperately losing. Harry remained quiet. Malfoy, also, seemed to turn his span towards Harry. "What's wrong, Potter," he said, "forget how to speak?" Harry eyes narrowed, as if though he was appalled to be talked to like this. He stepped forward, still not speaking, and raised his fist. "Harry!" said Ron. "He's not worth fighting." 

"Oh, sod off," Harry replied coolly. Draco wore a look; clearly stating "you think you can take me? Go ahead and try." Harry did, though. He lunged at Malfoy, a look of pure fury on his face. 

The crowd jumped as both boys went flying. "I – don't – know – whom – the – _fuck_ – you – think – you – are – but – shut – the – hell – up." He growled as he and Malfoy quarreled. He snarled cruelly when Malfoy's fist hit his left eye. He threw his right fist at Draco's head, and hit. 

"Go, Harry!" cried Fred from the background. 

"_Boys!" _ Said a gruff voice. Harry felt himself being picked up by the collar. Malfoy had also been picked up by the collar, though a black eye and cut lip graced his features. The man, probably a manager of a store, set them both back down. "I won't have no fightin' outside my store." He left without a goodbye, hobbling slightly off to the Magical Menagerie. 

Harry glared at Malfoy, who glared back. He considered doing it for a moment—resuming their fight, but another voice broke though their thoughts. "Harry!" cried an adult women's voice. "What happened?" 

"Harry beat the living daylights out of Malfoy!" said George, grinning from ear to ear. Malfoy strutted off, as if nothing happened. 

"Harry!" whispered Ron into his ear. "You're in big trouble now." 

"I can't be in trouble," he replied casually, "I don't know who the hell you people are." 

"You knew who Malfoy was," Ron pointed out. 

"Who doesn't know who Tredo Malfoy is?" 

"Who is Tredo Malfoy?" asked Ron, bewildered. 

"The person who just got his ass kicked." Ron didn't even have time to ask Harry further questions, because Mrs. Weasley broke in. 

"Harry! What are you thinking of?" she demanded. "It's not like you to fight!" 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Why are all of you calling me that?!" 

A red-haired boy with an identical twin smacked his forehead. "Mum," he said. "The pressure's finally gotten to Harry. He's gone completely mad." The other twin sighed. "Poor Harry," he said, "he just couldn't handle it." 

"I can so handle it!" Harry exclaimed, though he had no _clue_ what they were talking about. Probably something about Morculum, he told himself.

"Harry, dear," said the elder, woman redhead. "Why don't you just come with us and we'll figure all this out?" 

"What if I don't want to?" Harry was torn between going and not going. He didn't know who these people were, but they seemed to know him. Minions had tricked him a fair few times and it wasn't supposed to happen again. Sirius would be mad. 

The woman, probably the mother, looked at him, worried, the stern look in her eyes made _him_ worried. "Harry," she spoke very softly as though angered. "I'm not giving you an option here. Let's go." 

Harry had no choice but to follow her, as there was five of them and only one of them. He hoped desperately he hadn't gotten himself into something he would regret. Sirius would kill him.  

*

AN: Yeah, so this chapter's rather short. Bite me. Can anyone guess what I'm planning here? C'mon! Ask me questions!! I love answer you guys' questions!! I'm telling you right now, whatever you think the plot is—prepare to be surprised.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Sue me, I'll sue back

P.S

Since I'm naughty and sneaky, I'm posting my challenges here. Shh! Don't tell anyone! ^_^

Redfeather's Challenges

These are some ideas that I had for fics that I have no time to write. 

 *

Draco/Ginny Challenge

A past romance, spin off of a Salazaar/Rowena relationship—history repeats itself. 

Rules for this challenge:

-Draco must be Salazaar

-Ginny must be Rowena

-No prophecies. 

-D&G must discover the relationship of S/R in an ORIGINAL way… 

-They must find it while TOGETHER

*

Slytherin/Gryffindor challenge

Tells the story of a descendant of Salazaar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor. They can be as direct or indirect as you want. 

Rules for this challenge:

-Child must be a girl.

-She is not allowed to be a Mary-Sue

-She can be in the time of HP and co. or before.

-Must start when she is eleven

-She must live with her Aunt. You can decide the Aunt's personality.

-She must look like Slytherin w/ green eyes. 

I'll let you all decide the House, friends, timeline and other such things. Nothing cliché, please! 

*

Percy Challenge

Voldemort is looking for a new spy after the death of Severus Snape. He needs someone on the inside of Dumbledore and the Ministry. Somebody young, willing, and controllable…

Rules for this challenge:

-Percy must be the spy

-Voldemort must use Ginny as bait for Percy

-Percy at one point must be evil, whether he stays that way this your choice

-Must have a hinted Draco/Ginny pairing.

-Must have some humor. 

*

Have fun with these, guys! Please email these challenges to hgredfeather@yahoo.com if you make them. 


	2. Running Around in Circles

Seeing Double

By: Red, the Feathery

Chapter Three – Running Around in Circles

*

They floo-ed back to the redheads' house—Harry had really never liked Floo Powder. It gave him a dreaded feeling in the pit of his stomach, making him want to hurl incessantly. He coughed when he landed on the wooden floor of a living room. "You look rather like a chimney sweep," said one of the twins who had already arrived. Truth be so, he felt like a chimney sweep. He didn't reply to the spoken opinion. He didn't think he had to. 

The first thing he could tell was that the redheads' must've not been very rich. The house was practically in shambles! The staircase was huge, looking as though it went on for miles, although it was cracked and looked as if it was being held up by magic. Chips and cracks graced some windows; Harry assumed it was very cold here in the winter. The furniture was groaning, needing to be polished and re-done. All in all, Harry was not impressed with this family. The one of them cornered him at Quidditch Supplies and starting calling him a ridiculous name, then he didn't know who Tredo Malfoy was, and now all of them brought him here—to this _dump._ Sirius would've frowned on them, also. 

Something on his face must've given himself away, as the Weasleys' were all looking at him peculiarly. As though he had just criticized their house out _loud_. The mother of the redheads went into an adjoining room, leaving him alone with four people he didn't know. He suddenly felt very nervous. The girl with the mermaid-hair must've noticed it, for she was the first to speak. "You have no idea who we are, do you?" 

"Sorry," Harry replied. He didn't know why, but he felt he should apologize. They obviously knew who he was, but not vice versa. The tall, freckled boy looked incredulous, then angry, then upset. "Well then, we'll just have to change that, won't we?" the girl said. "I'm Ginny." 

"Gred," said one twin.

"Forge," said the other. 

"Oh, for goodness sake!" cried Ginny. "That's _Fred_ and that's _George_." 

"C'mon Ginny, that's no fun!" they said at the same time. 

"Who're you, then?" Harry acknowledged the tall, freckled one who had first found him. The boy, in reply, raised his eyebrows. He spoke in a voice so quiet, Harry had to strain himself to hear him. 

"Ron." Harry caught a slight quirk in his voice; something to the effect that Ron thought he would recognize this name. Harry didn't know why he would think this. "Oh," he said, and added lamely, "Right."

The aged living room was met with uncomfortable silence. No one seemed to want to speak to anyone. Not a sound echoed throughout the entire home that is except for a loud banging above Harry's head that annoyed the hell out of him. After a few more minutes of the crashing, Harry couldn't stand it anymore. "What the hell is that!" he demanded of them. Ginny smiled.

"It's a Ghoul. He lives in our attic and makes noise when he thinks it's too quiet." 

"That is _really_ annoying."

"Tell me about it," said Fred. 

"And mum said _we're_ annoying," George added.

"But you are annoying." Harry shot back.

"We're okay with that." Harry rolled his eyes. _Twins and their goddamned ESP. _

Silence ensued once more. This time Mrs. Weasley more shortly interrupted it, bustling into the room, telling her children to go upstairs. "Harry," she said as he began to follow them. "You have a visitor in the kitchen." 

_It better be Sirius, _was Harry's only thought as he changed direction, now headed towards the kitchen. "You've grown," said Mrs. Weasley. "You know that, right?" 

"I've been this height since I was thirteen." 

"Well, okay, then," said Mrs. Weasley uncertainly. She looked upon Harry with worry… and what was that? Regret? Suffice to say, Harry was now even more confused. But he followed anyway. 

Sitting at the kitchen table was the oldest man Harry had ever seen. He wore violent robes, imprinted with golden stars and moons. Protected by half-moon spectacles were two startlingly sparkly azure eyes. Gray hair wound its way down to the elder's belt. "Hello, Harry," said the man easily. Harry stared, not even bothering to tell the man that he _wasn't_ Harry. "Hello," he said back warily. He didn't know this man, nor did he trust him. He took a cagey seat at the table at the older man's gesture.

"Mrs. Weasley, here, has informed me that you've been acting peculiarly. And with the recent rise of the Dark Lord, I'm worried for you." Harry nearly let his jaw drop in shock. 

"Recent?! The Dark Lord had been in reign since I was just a child! He killed my father!"

The older man arched a brow, a look of surprise imposing on his face. Mrs. Weasley, the mother, he supposed, joined them at the table. "Harry," she spoke, "do you have any idea what you're talking about?" 

Harry defiantly raised his head. Who were these _people_ to tell him that he was stupid, out of his mind, a nutter, in other words? "Of course I do!" If it had been anyone else—like Sirius—Harry would've stood up and left just then. But the fact was, it wasn't Sirius. He was in a room, full of strange people that he'd never once seen before. He didn't know what to do, Sirius was nowhere to be found and these people clearly didn't know that he wasn't 'Harry'. He was almost scared. "I think it's _you_ that is mistaken, sir," he said, more nastily then he meant. 

"Harry—" 

"No." 

The elderly man widened his blue eyes, which were now without sparkle. When Harry didn't reply, the man said, "No what?" 

"This Harry," he replied, "I'm not him."

"Then who are you?" The man showed him a hint of a smile. Harry was for a moment without answer.

"Who are_ you?_" It wasn't an entirely bad answer Harry decided. After all, he really didn't know this man. To his vast surprise, the man smiled. "I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Now, young man—" Dumbledore smiled at him. "—it is your turn to answer my question." 

Harry opened his mouth to tell this man exactly what he wanted to hear, but shut his mouth quickly, deciding against it. "I'm not sure I can trust you," he said. "'Matter of fact, I'm not _sure_ I can trust _any _of you." 

"Well," said Dumbledore lightly, "if you are Harry, then something has certainly changed you."

"But I'm not Harry." 

"That excuse is going to get you nowhere until you tell us who you are." Dumbledore smiled evenly again. 

"And so we continue to run around in circles, for you know my answer to that already." It was Harry's turn smile. He stretched back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. He could almost see old Dumbledore's frustration. Mrs. Weasley frowned and stood up from the table. She walked over to the stove and started to boil some water. "What are you doing?" asked Harry. 

"I'm making tea, I always do when someone's upset." 

Harry was about to ask, "Who's upset?" but stopped himself when he realized it was Mrs. Weasley that was upset. Instead, he nodded. He then turned to Dumbledore and asked, "So, _Professor,_ do you need anything else from me, or can I go?" The old man sighed and gave him silent permission to leave. 

* * * 

Mrs. Molly Weasley watched Harry exit the room, maternal instincts taking over her. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting the way he was? She thought Dumbledore could get the information out of him, but was again mistaken. Harry and Dumbledore had simply played mind games with each other. Molly jumped as a few drops of boiling water jumped out of the pot and hit her finger. She had been so occupied thinking about Harry, she had forgot about the tea she was making and the visitor at the table. 

A few minutes later, Molly and Dumbledore were seated at the table, a cup of tea in front of each of them. "I _told_ you he was acting oddly, Professor." 

"Please, Molly, none of this 'Professor' business, just call me Albus. And yes, Harry's behavior is indeed strange." The two sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes. 

"Albus, do you think there's any way You-Know-Who could have done something to Harry?" Molly asked, walking to the kitchen cabinet and pulling out some crackers. However, when she offered some to Albus, he politely refused, insisting he had had a big lunch. "It's a definite possibility," he then stated in response to her question. "But I feel quite certain he was well protected at the Dursleys. Despite the fact the are his blood relatives, I have set up special wards at his home this summer, making it nearly impossible for any one wanting to harm him to enter the house." 

"Then what do you suppose did happen?" asked Molly. 

"I, for not the first time," he replied, eyes twinkling, "not a clue. I'm going to have to say he obviously has lost his memory somehow." 

"But, then, how did he end up in Diagon Alley, in his favorite shop, looking at Quidditch items?" 

"That, my dear Weasley, is an incredibly good point. I believe, now, I am as perplexed as Harry is—" Dumbledore chuckled. "—However, give me some time to think and research on the matter. If you wouldn't mind keeping him here, that is. If it's needed, I can take him with me. I don't want you or your family to be inconvenienced by this problem." 

"Do not worry about that, Albus; Harry has always been perfectly welcome in this home. That won't change because he lost his memory, the poor dear." 

Albus did not remain long after that. He and Molly said their good-byes and well wishes, then he was off.  

* * * 

Harry followed Ron Weasley up the umpteenth set of stairs. _How many stories does this house have, anyway?_ He wondered idly. They passed room after room after room. Harry read the plagues on the doors as he passed--Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George, Parents, Ginny, and then, finally, Ron. _Of course Ron's room would be at the very top of the house, _thought Harry. _Why couldn't Ron have been named Bill? At least his room was on the second floor, not the fifth._

"Come on in," said Ron, opening the door. Harry's first reaction was to cover his eyes, because everything in the room was _orange_. Suffice to say, Harry hated the color orange, but he didn't say anything of it. He was, after all, a guest in this house and Sirius wouldn't like it if he made a bad impression. Harry learned next that Ron was a Chudley Cannons fan, which explained most of the orange—orange was the Cannons color. Harry, himself, liked the Scottish Quidditch team, the Sydian Snakes, but that was another matter. Clothes of every type were spread around the room, and an open trunk full of parchment and books was open at the end of the bed. Stacks of comic books were piled high in the far corner.  Harry tried to look like all of this was familiar to him, but that didn't stop the uncomfortable silence between him and Ron. 

"So, Harry, what do you want to do? Hermione won't be arriving till Monday, so we've got the whole weekend to ourselves." 

"Hermione? Who's that?" Harry asked. Ron's jaw dropped and his face paled. 

"Er—" he said uncomfortably, "Hermione's our friend, mate. You've known her since first year." 

"Oh," said Harry, feeling stupid. "Right. I thought you said He-monie."

Ron smiled sadly. "No you didn't. You know perfectly well what I said, Harry." Harry could do nothing but look down at the bed he was sitting on, feeling incredulously guilty. "What's the matter with you, man? I mean, I know you went through a lot last year, but isn't this a bit much?" 

"'Sorry," said Harry. He couldn't help the culpability that was creeping into his stomach like a snake into its hole. He knew it wasn't his fault that he didn't know all of the things Ron wanted him to, but he felt like should know them. "That doesn't answer my question, Harry," Ron said. "What's wrong?" 

"That's just it." 

"That's just what?" 

"I'm not Harry. I'm not who you think I am. I may look like him, but I'm not. I'm sorry." Ron looked away and they were both silent. Ron didn't seem to believe him. Harry wondered for a second if Mrs. Weasley told Ron something about him that wasn't true. Something like "he's lost his memory." Because that wasn't true--Harry remembered his life perfectly well. "Harry, you don't have to remember everything at once. Just don't worry about it," said Ron after a few moments. "You can't escape Voldemort every time."

"Who's Voldemort?" 

"Oi," said Ron, smiling, "you really don't remember anything." He reached forward and tapped the scar on Harry's forehead. "Voldemort's the one who gave you this. He killed your father and then your mother gave herself up for you. Voldemort then tried to killed you, but your mother's love protected you and you walked away with just this scar. That's why you're famous." 

"I'm famous?" 

"Yes," said Ron with a laugh. Harry didn't see what was funny about this situation. 

"That's not true," he said. "That never happened." Ron wasn't laughing anymore. "I've had this scar ever since the moment I was born. Sure, people recognize me and say I look exactly like my father looked, but I'm not famous."

"Oh," said Ron, pausing in thought. "So, tell me, Harry, how is it you can remember that, but you can't remember your history with Voldemort?" 

"It's harder than it looks," he replied. 

"What is?" 

"Remembering something you never knew in the first place." Ron banged his head on the desk in what seemed to be an attempt to be funny. He continued to do it several times. Then, "Harry you're confusing the shit out of me." 

"I'm confusing the shit out of _you_? I believe it's the other way around." 

"I don't know, man," said Ron, "it's like you've lived an entirely different life this summer. Will you tell me everything about it?" 

"No," said Harry, "I can't—not yet. I just don't know you well enough."

"You've known me since you were eleven! Tell me, Harry!" 

"And we continue to run around in circles." 

"Huh?"

***

A/N: Augh… I wanted 'Harry' to tell the Weasley's more about himself, but he's just not willing!! -_- It doesn't matter, anyway, this fic is an attempt to get my confidence in my writing back. I'm determined to finish it no matter what. And while I'm working on a couple of other things, I'm not going to post them until this fic is _finished and done with. _That way I can't get distracted or something… Oh, and btw, if anyone wants beta-read or edit for me, I'd appreciate it. ^_^

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter and Co. then… well, lots of things would be different.


	3. Playing Pretend

Seeing Double

Chapter Three: Playing Pretend

By: Lord of the Flame

Beta-ed by: Marcela W. 

It began to rain that night. In fact, the only noises there were at dinner that night was the roar of the thunder and occasional clinking of a fork. 

The meal was splendid. Mrs. Weasley had prepared a feast. The table was full of pork chops, turkey, ham, with sides of potatoes, cranberries, and assorted vegetables. There was not any conversation between the family members whatsoever, but instead there was the annoying silence Harry had grown to hate throughout the day. He was lodged in between Ron and Ginny, feeling very meek and alone. He kept his eyes down for most of the meal, not knowing what to say or do. 

Ginny ate very regally, he noticed, for someone of her appearance. She sat with a very straight back, and kept her chin up. Her hair—though an odd color—was pulled back into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck, falling gracefully straight down her back. The freckles that lightly sprinkled her cheeks made her look older, rather than younger. Brown eyes betrayed her other features, giving the impression of a soft, gentle demeanor. Ginny glanced his way and caught him looking at her; he returned his eyes to his food and didn't move them for the rest of the meal—until…

There was a crash and yet another redhead burst into the kitchen. His hair was frazzled and his glasses askew; he was obviously in a rush. 

"Dad—" he gasped, "—You-Know-Who—Ireland—hurry." Mr. Weasley stood up and grabbed his wand from the counter. "Molly," he said in a rush, gathering a few more items Harry didn't recognize, "I'll be back later. Be careful." He planted a kiss on Mrs. Weasley's cheek, her face already pale with worry. 

"Arthur," she said, "you be careful." And Mr. Weasley and the other Weasley were gone. 

"Mum," said Ron, "Dad and Percy's jobs don't even involve work against, well, _You-Know-Who_, why are they sending _them _to Ireland?" 

"Everyone in the Ministry works against the Dark Lord now, nothing else is more important to them. Oh, I do hope Arthur is alright…" 

             * * * * 

Harry didn't sleep that night; he had too many things on his mind. He sat on the sofa in the living room, staring blankly into the dark fireplace. What on earth was going on? He put his head in his hands, frustrated. No one would ever believe he wasn't Harry. No one would ever let him go home. It was almost like being held captive. Almost, but not quite. For one, these people were actually concerned about him. Did he really look that much like another person? He didn't even think that it was possible, to have the same eyes, hair, skin color, and same birthmark. 

Or, maybe he was Harry, and everything he'd known before was a lie. Maybe Sirius was really, actually evil and trying to keep his real identity from him. Harry banished this thought immediately. "_No," _he thought. _"I'm not him. I can't be."_ Harry was at the point of screaming in frustration, the only things stopping him were the zillions of redheaded people sleeping upstairs. He'd just have to convince them he wasn't Harry. 

"I'm not Harry," he said into the darkness, trying to convince himself more than anyone. What surprised him most was that the darkness answered back. 

"I know." 

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around behind him, gasping, to see a sleepy-eyed Ginny. He let out a breath of relief. 

"What did you say?" he demanded of her. 

"I know you're not Harry." These words were spoken very slowly, and with a smirk. 

"How?"

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I just do. My family's all a bunch of gits if they can't tell that you aren't him." 

"That doesn't make any sense," he replied. 

"Sorry, I didn't know it was required." Ginny smiled. "Look, it doesn't have to make sense, does it? Shouldn't you be thrilled that someone actually believes you?" 

"Never in my life have I gotten 'thrilled'." 

"Go figure." 

Ginny walked forward and took a seat on the couch next to him. "So," she said, "I'm waiting." 

"For _what?_" 

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Didn't anyone ever teach you manners? I'm waiting for a thank you, but don't bother now, you've missed your chance." 

Harry paused for a second. Then with a bright smile, he said, "Thanks, Ginny! …Though I still don't know what I'm thanking you for."

"Git." 

"I've been called worse."

"So…" began Ginny.

"A needle pulling thread," finished Harry. 

Ginny nodded curtly. "So he's a Sound of Music fan…" She sounded more as if she was talking to herself, and not Harry. 

"Actually I think the concept of 'the hills coming alive' is kind of scary."

"Indeed," countered Ginny, grinning. Then added, "I'm not even going to go into where you learned about the Sound of Music, H—" she stopped herself and shot him an apologetic glance. 

"Sorry," she said, "You just look so much like him." Harry, for once, smiled. 

"If you're not Harry," said Ginny pointedly, "Then you should at least tell me who you _are_."

"Why?" said Harry. "It's not like it matters." 

"Of course it does!" Ginny exclaimed. "Why would it not mat—wait. Don't try to change the subject!" 

"I was trying to change the subject? The things you learn…"

"Answer the question." 

'Ginny, I—" said Harry "I—I can't." 

Ginny's eyes flashed. For a frightening second, the Boy-Who-Wasn't-Harry thought she might yell at him. But Ginny sucked in a breath, and said, "_Why not?_ What's stopping you?"

Harry gulped. "I—I don't trust people. I've never trusted anyone. I've never had any friends—in fact, the only person I'm really comfortable around is Sirius. And even _he's_ always telling me I've got to have 'a little faith in people'. I can't really help it. It's like a disease." 

"Sirius Black?!" Ginny's eyes were wide with fear. "You know Sirius Black?!" 

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He hated it when people did this. Sirius had been a big hero in a past war, bringing fame with him. Everyone was always saying, "You're so lucky, you live with Sirius Black." It was really beginning to get annoying. "Yes," said 'Harry', "I live with Sirius Black. He's my father." Well, it wasn't exactly a lie. Sirius was his father in Harry's opinion, but Sirius also hated it when Harry addressed him as so. 

"He _is?! _But—but—that doesn't make _any sense at all!" _

"Why not?" 

"You've lived with Sirius your whole life, right?" 

"…Yes." 

"You're a liar! A traitor! Sirius Black was in prison for thirteen years! He just escaped a little under two years ago!" 

"You're a nutter, Ginny Weasley. Sirius was pardoned over fifteen years ago! He was framed. Jesus, and I thought you were going on about Sirius' fame."

Ginny looked confused. "Yes, Sirius _is famous, but not in a good way. He's only famous because he's wanted in all of Europe! He's a criminal!". _

"Ginny, trust me. He's not a criminal."

"Why should I trust you if you don't trust me? That hardly seems fair."

"I know. I'm sorry, but you have to trust me. You can't go shouting it to the rooftops, that Sirius is a murderer." 

"I don't have to shout it! Everybody already knows! He killed Harry's parents!"

Harry stopped dead. His jaw dropped. Was this…? Did she…? What the hell…? He decided to leave it with a simple, "No, he didn't." 

"I'll make you a deal," said Ginny, smirking. "I'll trust you on this one if you tell me your name and origin." 

Harry considered this for a moment. Ginny didn't seem to be harmful, but you never knew in these strange times. Followers of _him could be around anywhere. In any corner, house—hell, this very family could've taken him in to turn him in—to __him. And that was the last thing he wanted. Harry shook his head stubbornly. "I can't, Ginny," he said, "I'm sorry." _

"Then you can do something else for me." 

"What?" 

"If you won't tell me who you are and where you're from, you'll be Harry." 

"Say what?" 

"You're going to pretend you're Harry." Ginny's eyes were not joking. Harry almost gagged. 

"No way!" 

"Then I shall just run upstairs and tell time you're involved with the mass murderer, Sirius Black." Ginny smirked. 

"I—but—argh," complained Harry. There was no way out of it except to go along with Ginny, or tell her whom he was. He didn't really want to do either. But, if he had to choose, he would rather keep his identity sealed. "Fine," said Harry, "but you have a lot of explaining to do."

"Don't worry, I'll tell you everything about him…" Ginny smiled and launched into the details. 

Neither slept that night.. 

***

In fact, the next morning Harry and Ginny were up and dressed before the rest of the family. Both dragged themselves into the kitchen after dressing, dark circles under their eyes for obvious reasons. "Harry" had learned everything one could possibly know about 'the other Harry', and wondered how much Ginny really knew about him and how much she had made up. 

"Good morning, Ginny, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, currently occupying her herself with making breakfast. 

"G'morning," said Harry back. _Step One, he remembered Ginny saying, _reply to the name Harry._ This particular step had taken quite a while to practice ("After all, they have to believe it!"). "So, Ron," he said in what he hoped was a way to address a best friend. After all, he'd never had one. "When did you say Hermione was coming?"_

Ron looked up, surprised. "Monday," he said dully. 

"Has she mentioned anything about Krum?" 

This got the attention of all the Weasley family. Four shocked looks—everyone except Ginny—met eyes. Harry burst into fake laughter. "Don't tell me," he laughed, actually finding this situation funny, "You actually believed me! It was a joke, the whole thing was a joke!" This considerably lightened the mood. The family froze in shock for a second, then everyone laughed except Mrs. Weasley, who looked at him crossly.

"Good one, Harry!"

"Can't believe I actually fell for it!"

"You've got some acting skills there, Potter!" 

"Harry!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley angrily. Laughter faded from the room. "How could you do that?! Arthur, Dumbledore, and I—all of us were worried sick! I would've expected more from you."

It was now time for Harry to put on his Acting Hat. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley. I was just trying to lighten the mood, you know, with… You-Know-Who and everything…." He let his voice crack. Mrs. Weasley could no longer take it. She strode over to him and gave him a great big hug. Harry looked at Ginny to see how he was 'acting'. 

She just smiled back at him. 

"I'll contact Dumbledore straight away! He'll understand—haven't seen such a strong sense of humor in a man for a long time."

Fred and George were still snickering. "That was brilliant, Harry." 

Ron, well, he could do nothing but smile. The Weasley house was happy and lively once again.

Even Mrs. Weasley was beaming. But there was one more thing Harry was curious to know about, something that would definitely dampen the mood. "Mrs. Weasley," he asked, "Have you heard anything from Mr. Weasley or Percy? Any news at all from Ireland?"

A/N: A little bit of a short chapter, but oh well. Big thanks to all the reviewers and a special big thanks Marcela W. who has taken the rather huge task of beta-ing for me! THANK YOU ALL! ^^:::

Coming up in the next chapter: Hermione, Quidditch, and more Weasley fun!!

  
  



	4. Dreams

Seeing Double

Chapter Four – Dreams

By: Lord of the Flame

Beta-ed by: Marcela W.

***

That night, 'Harry' dreamt. 

** ﻉ**

_"__Hiya," said the girl to "Harry". She was tall, and thin, with brown hair that shone like glitter. A man could get lost in her honey brown eyes—"Harry" certainly knew this; he did at least once a week. Her name was Kyli, and she was a flower. She belonged in Sidyn—with the other flowers. _

_"__Hi—er—Kyli," stuttered "Harry". It was unfair! He did this every time she was around! Why couldn't he just be _cool_ for once?! "How are you?" _

_"__I'm fine," she said sweetly. "I brought you a birthday present." "Harry's" birthday had been two weeks ago, but he ignored that. Kyli had brought him a _birthday_ present! She handed him a long, slim box, which he took, slyly taking the opportunity to touch her hand on purpose. She blushed and looked away. _

_"__Y'know," said "Harry", "what would be an even better birthday present than this?" _

_"__No, but I don't know how _you_ would know either; you haven't even opened it." _

_"__I don't need to," said "Harry" lamely. Kyli blushed fiercely, looking at the ground. _

_"__I—I think I hear my mother calling me!"  She said. "Happy birthday! Bye!" And she was gone, faster than "Harry" could blink. Before he even told her what the Best Birthday Present was. _

_Damn…._

_"__Troubles in love?" asked Sirius upon "Harry's" re-entrance to the house. "Harry" blanched._

_"__You were _watching_?!" _

_"__You would expect less of me?" _

_"_**SIRIUS!**"

_"__What?" Sirius smirked charmingly. _

_"Harry" stormed out of the room, more embarrassed than mad. And it was _all_ Kyli's fault!!  _

_"__Hey, kiddo! You hungry?" _

_"_**_NO._**_"_

**ﻉ**

The sun peeked over the horizon, spraying the sky with beam of ultraviolet colors. It was really quite a sight. Mornings of the small town of Sidyn were always something spectacular. There were few trees in the town, but enough flowers to satisfy anyone's need for nature.

But, in the middle-sized house on the corner of Welch St., a man and boy were quite ignorant of the sunrise outside. 

_"__Hey, kid!" a slightly aged, male voice called. "It's almost ten o'clock!" Following the exclamation was a knock on the oak door of "Kid's" room._

_"__Which means I still have two hours of sleep left; go away, Sirius." The boy occupying the bed stuffed his face down into) the pillow, trying his hardest to drown out the voice of the man that was interrupting his beauty rest. _

_"__But I made breakfast!" called Sirius from the door. _

_"__All the more reason to stay in bed!" _

_"__Hey!" called the man outside, __"__Don't make me come in there!"_

_"__It doesn't matter if you do, I'm still not getting up," said the boy smartly. _

_These types of arguments were common in the house on the corner. Neither the man nor the boy ever really got angry at each other, but rather just seemed to play. _

_The man entered the room. He was dressed in a casual set of black robes. He had misty, pale blue eyes and black hair with some gray in it. He walked over to the boy's bed of the boy and gave the sleeper a good shake. His only reward was the hand that flew at his face. _

_"__Didn't I tell you to go away?" asked the boy grumpily. _

_"__But I made _breakfast!_"___

_"__Ugh, go away." _

_"__Aren't you hungry?"_

_"__No, I'm tired."_

_"__But you've been sleeping for _hours_," griped the man. "Honestly, how much sleep can a person need? I've __been up since seven." _

_"__Well, you're_ insane," grumbled the sleepy boy. "And I need as much sleep as I want, so _go away__." _

_"__I regretfully refuse your request."_

_"__It wasn't a request," the boy grunted. _

It was the first day of the boy's summer holiday, and, evidently, he was enjoying it—by sleeping. It was just like Sirius to try and get him out of bed this early, but he wouldn't be tricked like before. 

"Look, kid! A Quaffle!" tried Sirius.

The boy didn't look up. "Sirius, how could there be a Quaffle? You have to hold a Quaffle, they don't just float around like Snitches." "That's what I'm saying! A Quaffle—with wings!" "Uh-huh. Right, Sirius." Do you now see what this boy had to go through each summer? The constant nagging of his adoptive father, and lack of sleep. He was surprised he didn't have dark circles under his eyes and food poisoning—it was not a good thing when Sirius tried to cook breakfast. ﻉ 

_It was raining. "Harry" liked the rain. _

_Tonight though, was a very special rainy night. It was Kyli's and his five-month anniversary, and he was waiting for her in the park in the rain. Kyli liked the rain, too. _

_Five months ago (approximately February of his fourth year) he'd gotten the nerve to ask Kyli out. He had known her since first year, after all. It had taken him two hours to work out the correct thing to say to her, because he certainly wanted to be original. A simple, "Kyli, will you go out with me sometime?" would not do at all. And even _after_ he'd worked all the correct things to say, when he met her in person the words came out nothing like he had previously prepared. But she had smiled and said "yes", anyway, so what was the harm? _

_He and Kyli had been dating since then. Even with Quidditch, studying, and extra activities, they found time to be together at school. The only time they had fought was when Kyli, giving his female cousin a hug only reserved for family, saw "Harry" (Kyli had not known she was his cousin). He'd not seen this particular cousin—he had five—in a year, in any case. After a week of pure torture on "Harry" and Kyli's part, they had resolved their feud and promised _never _to do it again. _

_They had been together since. _

_Of course, "Harry" hadn't been _planning_ for it to rain on their anniversary, but in his opinion, that just made it better. He and Kyli were both rain-lovers, both rain-lovers that Fate liked to tease, nonetheless "Harry" sat in the rain, waiting. He briefly wondered if Kyli wouldn't show up because of the weather, but banished the thought as quickly as it came—of course she would come. _

_It continued to pour rain down on him. For two hours the water fell, and no sign from Kyli. Perhaps she had forgotten? _

_"Harry" still sat on the bench—the one he specifically told her to meet him at. At a ten till nine-thirty, he laid down on the bench, letting the rain fall on his already soaked face. _

_Worry crept into his stomach like a predator creeps up on its prey. Perhaps she did forget? _

_It wasn't like Kyli to forget. She had an excellent memory. Everything about her, in fact, was excellent (in "Harry's" opinion). Kyli was all the extraordinary things of the world packed into one beautiful package. No, she wouldn't forget this. "Harry" _trusted_ her not to forget. _

_Kyli did not come. _

_Hours later, "Harry" was shaken awake by a worried, drenched Sirius. He stared for a minute. Then, "… Sirius, what are you doing here?" "Harry" was quite perplexed. What was Sirius doing there, anyway? What time was it? When was breakfast? "Harry's" head was scrambled with questions like an egg in the frying pan._

_Sirius just looked at him.  "Harry" didn't know what it was, but there was something wrong with those pale blue eyes. They were not shining like they usually were. On the contrary, they just stared. They stared at "Harry" as though he would break at the slightest touch. "Sirius?" he questioned, worried. "Is everything okay?"_

_Sirius shook his head. "No, everything is not okay. You need to come home now."_

_"But, Sirius—I was—Kyli…" "Harry" broke off. _

_The rain had stopped briefly, "Harry" noticed. "What time _is_ it anyway?_"

_"Well past midnight," said Sirius gravely. "I was worried—well—when you didn't come home."_

_"I'm sorry—I was waiting for Kyli; she didn't come." _

_"I know," Sirius interrupted. "I know she didn't. Come on, kiddo, we need to get home."_

_Walking the short distance to home, "Harry" realized just how cold and wet he actually was. The water seeped right through his nice, dark blue robes, freezing his skin so much that it burnt. He felt the Goosebumps prickling along his skin, all the way from his toes to his scalp. It made him feel not only numb, but also like someone was watching him…. "Harry" kicked himself for being paranoid. No one was watching him; he was just cold. He shivered, more to encourage his train of thought than because he was cold. _

_Then, a voice called out from the darkness, but "Harry" could not tell what it was saying. "_Ash…" _was all he could hear. He stopped walking for a second, straining to hear more of the voice. "_Ash…_"__ Again, that was all he could make out. The voice sounded vaguely familiar and definitely feminine. _

_Sirius, a little ahead, stopped and turned around. "Harry" could briefly Sirius calling him, asking him if he was all right. _

_Harry listened again for the voice. Nothing. _

_He turned to Sirius, whom was still looking worried and tired._

_ "I'm fine." _

_Although, he instantly felt a pang of guilt for making Sirius come looking for him. _

ﻉ

_ If "Harry" had been worried in the park, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. Aurors and Ministry officials were wandering around his neighborhood. Sirius stopped to talk to one of them, a burly man with a small beard. "I think it would be best if you went inside," Sirius said  to "Harry" without emotion. _

_Harry didn't understand. What was Sirius going to talk to this man about that "Harry", himself, couldn't hear? Sirius had always shared everything with him in the past. He did not, however, question Sirius on the matter. He trusted Sirius to tell him what was wrong, even if he had to wait. "Harry" did not have a single doubt that Sirius wouldn't tell him; that was just how much he trusted Sirius. _

_Nodding his head, "Harry" tottered the short distance towards the house. To his surprise, Sirius's friend, Remus Lupin, was waiting inside for him. He couldn't help but notice that Remus also looked worried and tired. "Harry" desperately wanted to know what was wrong, but he knew from the look on Remus' face, there were no answers to be discovered there. He would just have to wait for Sirius, even though he would rather not wait at all. _

_"Hey, there," said Remus. "How're you doing?"_

_"Cold and wet, thanks," said "Harry" irritably. He didn't mean to come off as rude and harsh as he had, but he couldn't help it. Besides the fact he _was _cold and wet, he was also being deprived of answers he was really interested in. All of the confusion made him forget completely that Kyli had stood him up. _

_"Why don't you pull up a chair?" asked Remus, ignoring "Harry's" harsh tone. _

_"If you insist." Even though "Harry" would've rather done anything than pull up a chair at the moment, he did it anyway. He shivered when he sat down—the soaked fabric was pressing to his back. _

_Remus seemed to shift uncomfortably for a moment. Then, he asked, "Are you keeping you're grades up?" _

_"__Harry" supposed this was Remus' idea of small talk (in "Harry's" opinion, nothing but evasive maneuvering from the actual point of the conversation), since he had been a professor in his past days and all._

_"Yeah," uttered "Harry". "I suppose you could say that."_

_Sirius entered the kitchen loudly, drawing both of the occupants' attention to him. His face looked drawn and gaunt. Sirius looked exhausted, like he'd been up all night. "Harry" looked at the clock—it was three in the morning. He had waited for Kyli longer than he thought._

_Sirius drew up another chair to the table, also._

_"Are you finally going to tell me what's going on?" demanded "Harry". His voice came out harshly again. Maybe the coldness really was getting to him. _

_" Yes. Yes, I'm going to tell you. You see…" Sirius trailed on. _

_Harry already knew this was something to do with Morculum. "Just tell me," he said firmly, "Whatever it is, I can handle it. Honestly." _

_"The Minions attacked our neighborhood at ten o' clock. As you know, I was not here, and you were at the park. But, they killed someone, kid." Sirius' voice was tightening. Remus looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but he at the moment. He looked away. _

_"Who?" asked "Harry". Sirius and Remus shared a pained glance at each other, as if they were each challenging each other to speak first. "Just tell me, damn it!" Both adults turned to look at him, surprised at his sudden outburst. _

_"Kyli," Sirius gasped out. "They killed Kyli." _

_Harry felt all color drain from his face. No, this wasn't happening, _not_ K__yli…. He shook his head to reassure himself. "Are you… sure?" he blurted out for no reason. Harry's worst nightmares were then confirmed. Sirius nodded. _

_"I think…I'm just going to…go to bed now." But "Harry" didn't move for a moment. He sat there in silence, staring straight ahead, his eyes glassy._

_"Are—are you okay?" asked Sirius, genuinely concerned. _

_"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay," Harry lied. "Just tired." _

_Sirius offered him what was supposed to be a comforting smile, but Harry felt no compassion at this moment. His entire world had been ripped away from him. He no longer felt anything but sadness and coldness._

_"It's going to be okay," Sirius tried to console him, almost reading his thoughts. _

_"I—I know," declared Harry, "I think I just need to sleep." He needed to sleep it away, forget about it. Never wake up. Ever. That was what he _wanted_ to happen. _

_"Alright," said Sirius. "Good night."_

_"Good night," echoed Remus, who had been eerily silent the whole time. Harry secret suspected he felt out of place in such an emotional moment between Sirius and "Harry". _

_"Harry" did not return their "good nights", but instead trudged out of the kitchen slowly. He did not even remember climbing the stairs to his bedroom. _

ﻉ****

_Harry lie in his bed. He did not think of _her_, he couldn't--__ it was too soon. One night, one simple night, had ruined everything. He had been the happiest boy on the planet, and now he was surely the saddest. _

_He had been going to tell _her_ that he loved her, but he never had gotten the chance. He never would get the chance now. It was _their_ fault entirely. They had ruined everything for him, and he could've stopped it, if only he had been there when it happened. If he hadn't been sitting on a park bench while everything had happened, _she_ might still be alive. He should've known something was wrong when she failed to show at the park. …He should have known something was wrong… _

_It was his completely his fault; there was nothing he could do to change that. _She_, the love of his life, was gone forever and he had done nothing to stop it. If he was truly this ignorant, he didn't _deserve_ to have _her_.__ She deserved someone who could tell when something was not right, somebody that didn't sit on a bench, waiting for her to come to him. He should've gone to her. _

_He would never be able to look at a flower again. Not without thinking of _her_. The way her brown hair twinkled in the light, how her brown eyes filled her delicate face with happiness, how her eyebrow twitched when she was confused or concentrating hard, how she tucked her hair behind her ear when she laughed. …Her laughter. The sound that filled the world was joy. The merry sound of her laughter was enough to attract anyone's gaze. And she, the only flower in his garden, had loved him, only him. _

_But, now, that flower was nothing but a shriveled, crinkled pile of petals and a stem; there was no more garden. His garden was dead. He had once been the luckiest man alive, and now he was nothing but the loner he had been in first year. It was first year all over again. _

_Without knowing it, "Harry" was drifting into a quiet, peaceful slumber. He wanted to dream, dream of anything but his wilted flower, anything but those weeds that had ruined her. So "Harry" dreamt. _

**ﻉ**

A/N: "He dreamt of good things, not bad. He dreamt of glad things, not sad…" –alright, I'm done. I apologize this took so long, but I was stuck for a while. We get a little closer look at "Harry's" life with Sirius in here, and if you're careful, there's a huge point in this chapter that's almost impossible not to miss. I'm not going to tell you whereabouts it is, because that would ruin the fun. I want to see some guesses though.

And for anyone who wanted to know, Kyli was a Mary-Sue on purpose—I'm not that bad of a writer, I swear. And, ack! SD has an angsty side! I would've never expected that! Oh well, the stories write themselves, as you know. 

Also, one last thing, I've started a mailing list for SD, if you'd like to be on it just leave your e-mail in the review. I'll e-mail every time a new chapter is up and so on. I might send you some things if I start a new fic I want you to try, but most likely not (it just depends.). 

And to end the longest AN I've ever written: REVIEW PLEASE!!! 

Disclaimer: I don't own it. How many times must I repeat this STUPID phrase?  

(OH, and HA, 3,001 words! A record word count for SD. [some of my other fics are 4,000 words per chapter] -^_^-)


	5. A Suspicious Visitor

Seeing Double

Chapter Five – A Suspicious Visitor

Written By: Lord of the Flame

Beta-ed By: Marcela 

*

"Harry" awoke with a start. He was shaking all over, his eyes watery and wide. Cold drops of sweat were running down his face; his raven hair was clinging damply to his forehead, which was creased with worry. 

The dream had been horrible. He had not needed to be reminded of the accident (though it really wasn't an accident) yet; he had been having enough trouble getting over it to begin with. It was not the first time the dream had haunted him. Every night it was the same vision, sometimes slightly different, but always nonetheless it came. Like a poison without an antidote. Like a plague of his worst nightmares. 

A voice called out sleepily in the darkness. "Are you okay?" 

"Harry" recognized the voice as Ron's. The red-haired boy had sat up in bed, his hair tousled, looking at "Harry" with immense concern. 

"Harry" swallowed, taking in a deep breath, asking him himself the same question over and over. 

_Am I okay?_

"I'm fine, Ron," he assured his "friend", though the doubt was still there. Since _her_ death, the doubt, or guilt, had always been there, holding him, feeling like a stone in his chest.

"Did you have another nightmare?" Ron asked worriedly. 

How could he have possibly known? Had the real Harry had nightmares also? 

Harry nodded his head silently. _"Whenever you don't know the answer to a question that can be answered with yes or no and has no sexual reference," Sirius had always said, "It's always 'yes'."_

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

"No." This was one question that Harry was sure of the answer. Ron had no right to know about _her; "Harry" didn't even know Ron. The other Harry, maybe, would've told Ron everything about his dream, but that Harry was not the same Harry anymore. That Harry was himself; he _was _that Harry. _

"Alright, Harry," mumbled Ron uncertainly. If "Harry" had known Ron better, he would've felt sorry at Ron's hurt, dejected tone of voice. "I'm going back to bed, then," he continued. 

A few moments later, "Harry" heard the distinct sound of a snoring redhead in the bed next to him. He was alone in the darkness. Alone again… 

He remained sitting upright in bed, not wanting to go back to bed, afraid of his dreams. Though when he that about it, he didn't want to remain awake either. He had too much time to think when he was awake. If only he could find a temporary magic solution that would put him in some sort of 'hibernation'.  

Belittling the silly idea, "Harry" stared straight at the wall, not thinking about anything in particular. If he started thinking, surely his thoughts would drift to _her. And his thoughts drifting to _her_ was the last thing "Harry" wanted at the moment. He just wanted peace and quiet—no thoughts running through his head. _

"Harry" yawned. Maybe he was more tired than he had originally thought. He stretched back into bed, now staring at the ceiling. Perhaps if he could just lie here all night, he would get enough rest, but not actually have to sleep. It amused "Harry" greatly that he used to be so fond of sleep, but now he avoided it at all cost. He almost found it ironic. Things had definitely changed in the past year. "Harry" wasn't sure whether or not they had changed for the better or for the worse, but they had definitely changed. 

Harry felt weariness creep up on him. He blinked and sat up in bed again. He couldn't fall asleep; he would surely have that dream again. 

Ron was still snoring in the bed next to him. "Harry" sighed despondently. If only his life could be as easily as Ron's. Ron had a family that loved him, good friends, and, though he may not have been rich with money like the Malfoys, but he was rich in his own way. He had something the Malfoys would never have--Love. The Malfoys would never have the love for each other that the Weasleys or "Harry" and Sirius had. The only thing that held that family together was money. Harry wondered for a moment if money was actually the root of all evil, not hatred. 

To keep himself occupied, "Harry" surveyed the small room he currently occupied. Directly in front of him was Ron's dresser, an oak case with open drawers and various clothes hanging out. The walls all around him were painted bright orange with so many posters of the waving, happy Chudley Cannons that a person could go blind. Ron's four-poster was against the wall to the right of "Harry" and next to it was an oak bed table to match the dresser. Various objects were strewn all over the table, such as quills, ink, and paper. On "Harry's" left there was a basically empty bookcase. The room seemed to sag with sorrow in the stillness. 

"Harry" was sorry for many things, himself. For not being there for _her_, for not spending more time with Sirius (would he ever see him again?)… and most importantly, for _not being the Harry everyone thought he was. _

*

"G'morning, Harry! Did you sleep well?" 

"Harry" trudged to the breakfast table tiredly. He was among the first ones out of bed, considering it was seven o' clock in the morning in the middle of summer vacation. Ron, according to Ginny's word, probably wouldn't be up for another three hours at least. 

"I slept fine, Mrs. Weasley," he answered, taking a seat. "How 'bout you?"

"Fine, thanks. Are you hungry?" 

"Not really." 

Mrs. Weasley looked at him funny. "Are you sure?" she probed. 

"Yeah," mumbled "Harry", "Positive." 

Contrary to his wishes, Mrs. Weasley set a plate down in front of him, filled to the rim with sausage, pancakes, bacon, toast, and anything else a person could want. "Eat anyway," he commanded him, "You're thin as a pole." 

It was Ginny who next stepped into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired. She stopped when she saw "Harry" at the table and smiled. She didn't look at all tired anymore. 

"Good morning, Harry!" Ginny's eyes were laughing at him. "Harry" glared. What right did she have to laugh at him? It was _her_ idea in the first place!

"'Morning, Ginny," he said crisply, still glaring. He continued to glare when she pulled up a seat next to him and leaned over. 

"You shouldn't stare, you know," she said with a smirk. "It's considered rude." 

"Whatever," he shot back, now ignoring her. He looked at his plate, fumbling around with his fork. 

"Harry" just then remembered something he wanted to ask Mrs. Weasley again, but never got the chance. The door opened and in walked Mr. Weasley, looking exhausted and depressed. 

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley cried. She ran at him and gave him a loving hug. "I was so worried. Are you okay? What happened? Is everything all right?" 

Arthur returned the display of affection, however wearily. "Everything is not OK, Molly, but now is not the time to talk about it." 

"Harry" knew it was him they were talking about. Ginny had explained to him all about the real Harry's past, but that didn't stop him from wanting to know what was going on. He found himself wanting to yell, "Why isn't this the time to talk about it?" but he didn't. It wasn't his place in this house—or world or whatever—to do that. It was _Harry's_ place. 

"Don't let me bother you," he said instead, almost feeling Mr. Weasley's pointed glance. "I'm finished anyway." And with that, "Harry" was gone. 

"Oh!" cried Mrs. Weasley, still in earshot. "But he hasn't eaten anything yet. _Arthur!!" _

*

"Harry" was furious. He didn't know exactly _why_ he was so angry; he just knew he was. Were _all_ the adult wizards here like this? Sirius had never kept secrets from him, nor his professors, or any other adults. 

He stormed his way back up to Ron's room, not caring how much noise he made. Groans and grumbles came from inside the doors as he stomped past. 

When he got to the room, Ron was already getting dressed. Luckily for "Harry" (and Ron), he already had his jeans on. 

"Whassa matter, mate?" said Ron with a sleepy drawl. 

"I'm just frustrated is all," "Harry" replied. "No one will talk about anything in front of me. It's kinda like they're trying to protect me from stuff, but how can I be protected if I don't know what's going on? Don't I deserve to _know what's going on with M—Voldemort?" Harry caught himself quickly. That was close. _

Ron flinched at the name 'Voldemort', but he nodded anyway. "Yeah," he agreed. "Dumbledore and them aren't doing you any good, keeping secrets and all. I mean, you could walk straight into Voldemort's hideout—well, probably not, but you get my point, right?" Ron paused for a moment and looked at "Harry". "Hey! Cheer up, Harry! Hermione's gets here today!" 

"No offense to Hermione, or anything, but I'm not in the mood to 'cheer up'," "Harry" grumbled this. 

"So you're just going to sit there and mope? That doesn't sound like you." 

"Sorry?" 

*

Hermione arrived just a bit after lunch. "Harry's" first impression of her was that she was neat and plain. Her skin was slightly tanned, with brown eyes and brown hair. She was wearing simple Muggle clothing, a yellow t-shirt and an ankle-length denim skirt. 

"Hello, Harry!" she called. She then continued to greet every member of the family in turn, with a hug for each. "Harry" returned her greeting, but didn't look directly at her. 

"What's wrong?" she asked worriedly. "Are you okay, Harry?" 

"Yeah… Hermione, I'm fine," he mumbled. Then he added "Just great" for emphasis. Hermione still looked concerned. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Harry" didn't get a chance to answer, because Ron intervened. "Harry" said great things about Ron under his breath. 

"So, 'Mione! How you been? Just ignore Harry here, he went insane over holiday." 

"Ron, that's not funny," scolded Hermione, but she was still smiling. "Harry" was starting to pick up a vibe between the two of them. Something along the lines of "Hey! I like you, but I'll never get the guts to tell you!" Frankly, it made "Harry" nervous. After all, did the real Harry know about this? Where _was the real Harry, anyway? _

"You know, guys," he said uncomfortably, "I think I'm going to go outside for a bit, I need some fresh air." It wasn't a total lie, he actually _did_ want to go outside for a bit, but it was more to get away from all the tension than to get some fresh air. 

"Do you want us to come with you, Harry?" Hermione replied, a small frown creasing her face. Ron nodded in agreement, though "Harry" had a feeling that he would agree with Hermione even if Hermione said the sky was falling. 

"Nah," he said dejectedly, "I just want some time alone." 

"Well… alright," Hermione agreed unwillingly, "but don't be too long, I haven't seen you or Ron for ages, it seems."

"All right, see ya in a few." 

"Harry" exited as soon as possible. Yes, he was glad to get away from it all. 

* 

Hermione, as she watched Harry retreat, was worried out of her mind. 

"Ron?" she asked. "Are you sure he's all right?" She knew she didn't have a _real_ reason to be worried about him, but since when had Harry become so distant and quiet? Usually he and Ron were the two most obnoxious boys in the Gryffindor house, except for maybe Fred and George. 

"Yeah, Hermione," said Ron, assured. "Why do you ask?" 

"No reason, really," Hermione countered, "He just seems a bit… I don't know… standoffish." 

"He's just Harry, Mione, nothing more, nothing less. You now what he went through. In fact, when he first got here he was trying to convince everyone that he _wasn't Harry. I think he's just sick of all the fame, or something." _

"He was trying to convince everyone he wasn't Harry?" squeaked Hermione. "That's odd." 

"How is that odd? I just gave you a perfectly good reason!" exclaimed Ron. He stood up from where they had been sitting on the sofa. He walked over to the window and looked out. 

"That's not it, Ron," said Hermione, getting up and following him. She could see Harry out of the window, sitting under the shade of a big oak tree, his head in his hands. 

"Then what is it?" questioned Ron. He was looking at Harry with an odd look in his eyes, then he looked away. 

"It's just that… well, I feel stupid saying it." 

"Saying what?" 

"Ron, I don't think that's Harry."

*

A/N: And that's a rap! (Yo, yo, yo. ^_^ Hurray for Flame's corny jokes) 

THANK YOU, EVERYONE! Review, as always!


	6. Impeccably Fine

The Dreams Within – Chapter Six

By: Lord of the Flame

Edited by: Marcela W. 

"Impeccably Fine"

~*~

"Harry" wasn't hungry at dinner that night. It wasn't Mrs. Weasley's, He was just very perceptive of other people's emotions, and the only emotion at the Weasley table that night was tension. And when times were tense, "Harry" tended to lose his apetite. Sirius had always nagged him about it, but it really couldn't be helped. 

He had a nagging suspicion why Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were stressed out. He didn't know why Hermione and Ron kept glaring at each other, or why, when they weren't doing that, Hermione was shooting suspicious glances in "Harry's" direction. Ginny, sitting to his left, shot him an equally confused look every once in awhile. ****

The only people who seemed to be enjoying themselves, currently attacking** each other with peas and chopped carrots, were Fred and George. Everyone except himself either didn't notice or were used to the antics of the twins. This would have proved amusing to "Harry" if they hadn't decided to turn on him and began pelting _him_ with bits of vegetables. **

Still, no one noticed except Ginny, to his left. She reached deftly into her glass of water for a reason "Harry" didn't know, and said she would be right back and that she had to use the restroom. With a wink at "Harry", and one fist clenched, she started to walk out of the kitchen, passing Fred and George on the way. 

Suddenly, they both jumped out of their seats and started flapping their shirts and jumping around like maniacs. 

"Aah! It's in my pants!" cried one twin. 

"Harry", suddenly aware that this caught the others' attention, couldn't help but laugh. Ginny had slipped ice cubes down the back of each of the twins' sweaters. 

Everyone else laughed, too. But they had no notion to what was going on like "Harry" did, which, in his opinion, made it all that much funnier. 

The twin who had cried out earlier ran from the room, yelling at the rest of the family not to eat dessert without him. The twin, who'd already fished out his ice cube from under his jumper, was now laughing at the plight his identical brother was in.

After the laughter had died down, and Fred (or was it George?) came back with a the seat of his pants wet, claiming he had a sister to murder, and those unaware of the little prank (known them as the two adults, Ron and Hermione) wanted to know what had happened. 

"Nothing," said "Harry". "Harry" caught Hermione giving him another shifty glance. "Fred and George just got what was coming to them." He smiled and nodded. 

Mrs. Weasley gave him a worried look. "Harry." Her voice was close to scolding. "You've barely touched your dinner. Are you all right?" 

"Harry" fought the really tempting urge to roll his eyes. He was getting very annoyed with that question. People were always asking it at home, too; was it just a 'Potter's' destiny to be worried about? 

"I'm very, very, impeccably fine, Mrs. Weasley," said he, failing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He hoped this would be enough of an answer to satisfy the worried mother. 

By this time, Hermione had given him two more of those annoying glances she was so good at. He locked eyes with her, willing her mentally to stop doing it, but she continued to look at him with suspicion and a bit of contempt. 

Had he done something wrong?

À

"Harry" was being plagued by dreams again. This time, he wasn't reminiscing Kyli's death, but something even more horrifying. 

He was back in the house on the corner, sleeping in his bedroom, like any other normal day. The room, though, had a reddish tint that he hadn't noticed before. Maybe it was just part of the dream…?

There was a knock on the door, but without knocking, Sirius just walked in. 

This dream might not sound very horrifying yet, but when Sirius did his usual routine of trying to arouse "Harry", something was extremely wrong. 

"Harry," he called merrily. "Harry! Time to get up! Harry… do we really have to go through this again? Ugh… _Harry…"_   

"Harry" flew upright in bed—Harry! This wasn't happening, was it? Sirius had—no! Sirius wouldn't do that! He must've been imagining it. 

Sirius would never, ever, have called him Harry. 

_Harry…Harry. _Not-Harry turned the word over in his mind, analyzing it. For the first time he had arrived, something about the name triggered something in his mind. Familiarity. A sense of recognition. It couldn't be, though—he wasn't Harry, right? 

There was something about brooding in the night that made your mind work in odd ways, made it reveal things that you never could've figured out on your own. "Harry" figured that was what was happening—except opposite. The dark was making his mind panic in confusion. Too much information, not enough brain cells to process. _Wake up,_ he commanded his mind, shaking his head a little. _I need more than a third of my mind for this. _

Then, "Harry" came to realize something. How could he have been so stupid! _Harry!_ _Harry Potter!_

"Oh, _shit!_" he grumbled to no one in particular. 

À

Ginny woke calmly. Her eyes fluttered open to see the morning sun shining down on her bed. She'd put her bed by the window in the first place because the sun's light made her warm on the coldest mornings. But now, on this hot summer morning, the warmth had made her damp with sweat. _Damn it_, she cursed mentally, throwing off her blanket. She stripped of her damp pajamas and put on her robe, heading to the bathroom for a shower. 

After the trick she'd played on the twins last night, she would have to approach this carefully. She would need to check the shower and all soaps and shampoos for little _gifts_ from Dumb and Dumber (also know as Fred and George). If she knew her brothers, they had put a charm on the showerhead that would mostly likely turn her hair back red. The boys were too much like their father, always finding a loophole in whatever law they felt they needed to break. It was them who found out, with some unexpected research, that the Ministry could trace where the magic came from, but not precisely who had done it. It was easier, this way, for pureblood children to get away with illegal magic during summer vacation.  

She knew her mother was still upset about Ginny's new, aquamarine hair, but there was things about Ginny that her mother didn't know. Like how sick she had been of always fitting in. Like how she desperately wanted to do something amazing, like that Muggle bungee jumping thing. Though after careful consideration of her terrible fear of heights, Ginny decided to go with something still extraordinary, but not so scary. Thus, Ginny was now Mermaid-Head, as Fred and George had dubbed her.  

Ginny sighed. She really needed to stop watching the TV her father had in the garage, but it was just so entertaining, even though it did blow sparks at you every once and a while (the reason for its confiscation). 

Once Ginny got into the bathroom, checked the shower, and slid out of her robe and into the tub, she realized how lucky she was. It wasn't like Fred and George to not take the opportunity to play a prank like that on their baby sister. But the fact that they didn't only told her they were plotting something even bigger, and even more embarrassing. 

Once dressed, downstairs, and very cautious of her surroundings, Ginny was finally ready for breakfast. Not-Harry wasn't there yet, thought Ginny amusedly. She had to admit watching him pretend to be Harry was quite amusing, even though deep down she really was worried for Harry. The not-Harry was just so _good _and_ funny_ at being Harry. Every time he pulled one of his aw-I'm-deprived-feel-sorry-for-me faces, she had to basically have a coughing fit to hide her laughter. And that wasn't even mentioning the fact that this Harry noticed her, even though of her as a friend (she hoped). 

Fred and George were seated at the table, whispering to each other in hushed voices. This scared Ginny, who took a very wary seat at the table. It frightened her even more when they laughed. They seemed to notice. 

"Aw, looky at poor, scaredy Ginny!" said Fred.

"Why, dearest sister, why are you so afraid?" asked George. 

"You can cut the crap, both of you." Ginny glared hard at them. She wasn't stupid. "I _know_ you're up to something." 

Fred and George looked at each other, clearly appalled. "Who, us?" 

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Who _else_ would I be talking to? I'm always the first at the breakfast table, and, as soon as I gave you your just 'desserts' at the dinner table last night---wham! You beat me to breakfast. Smells like trouble cooking to me."

"I don't know," grinned Fred. "Smells like bacon cooking to me."

"Ham, to me."

"Or Ham." Fred shrugged. "Doesn't really matter."

Ginny sighed. According to her maybe-a-little-biased opinion, she was the only normal one in her family. She was the only one, she thought, that was truly concerned (besides her parents, of course) about the upcoming war. All her brother seemed to want to do was have fun, joke around—basically act like everything was normal. Couldn't they see it wasn't? 

Nevertheless, Ginny didn't approve of this reckless manner of acting, _especially _because of the war. Her siblings (mostly Ron) had told her often that she needed to lighten a bit. But weren't her brothers just a bit _too_ bright?

Not-Harry entered the kitchen just then. His hair was more tousled-er than usual, and his eyes were shifty. Up, down, right, left, crossed—something was obviously wrong. 

He took his usual seat next to her, and Ron—whenever he woke up—would sit on Not-Harry's other side. Though Ginny never voiced this, him sitting next to her made her extremely nervous. After all, her feelings for the real Harry still remained, and the two boys really were identical twins. 

That was how she'd figured out it wasn't him in the first place. Not only was his personality _completely, utterly_ different (she thought her family was stupid for not noticing), but she also didn't feel the same way around him as she did the real Harry. Not to mention that she'd spent so much time watching the real Harry to know his reactions and thoughts before he even thought them. She could _read_ him through and through. 

Breakfast was served fifteen minutes later, and Ron was still sleeping. Ginny expected Not-Harry to be hungry after his nothing-dinner last night, but he still wasn't eating. What was he, some kind of anorexic…? She pushed the plate at him, giving him her best 'eat now—Harry would do it' look. But this only made him more nervous. He shook his head. For once, and this was a feeling Ginny wasn't used to seeing on Harry's face—even though this wasn't Harry. She couldn't read his thoughts anymore, because Not-Harry hid them so well. 

She looked at him, trying to hide her sympathy. One thing she knew about Not-Harry was that he didn't like to be pitied. He had lost weight since he'd arrived a week ago. He was pale; his whole face was all but white. His eyes kept shifting, but usually remained on his full plate. 

Fred and George were laughing at one of their own private jokes, a very common occurrence. But this time Ginny suspected it had something to do with her. 

Mrs. Weasley told Not-Harry to eat. "We can't have you going back to school next week looking like that! Dumbledore would have my head!" 

Not-Harry ate, however not very much. Ginny knew why, because when she had been thirteen, she had almost been anorexic, trying to impress real Harry with thinness. After a while her stomach had contracted so much it was almost impossible to eat. 

"May I be excused?" asked Not-Harry. "I need to use the restroom." 

Mrs. Weasley replied, "Of course, dear." 

Not-Harry all but ran from the room. 

"I have to go too," Ginny spoke up and followed. Even though this sounded extremely suspicious, her family didn't say anything. 

Not-Harry went all the way to the bathroom on the third floor, but Ginny didn't know why. Until she arrived at the door, he was retching—throwing up, whatever you wanted to call it, but he was. 

He emerged twenty minutes later, pale and sick looking. 

"Ginny," he gasped out, like he'd been wanting to say it for a long while. "I'm not doing it _anymore_—I can't." 

"What the hell is wrong?" Fierce worry took a hold of her. He may not have been Harry, but she still considered him a friend. 

"We need to talk," was all he had time to stay, because there was an explosion and the cackling laughter of the twins. 

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" Ginny screamed at the twins that were nowhere in sight.

À

**A/N: Ack! Not-Harry's having a bad morning! I hoped everyone liked that refreshing bit from Ginny's p.o.v. and accepted the tale of _why_ she died her hair (I know that was kind of sudden, but remember, Not-Harry had never known redhead Ginny, so he would've thought it normal. For her, anyway.) I borrowed the magic-on-summer-holidays thing from Just Like Hermione and I've no intention of stealing it. I figured, probably like she figured, that since Fred and George do so much magic during the holidays anyway, that there had to be some kind of loophole in that certain law. And hey, for some good news, we're getting closer to knowing Not-Harry's real identity (maybe chapter 7, but most likely chapter 8). I didn't really know what to do with this chapter, so if it seems a bit off, just ignore it. Also, before the readers point it out, all the mistakes in this fic are _intentional_. As in they're there for a _purpose._ So don't abandon me for all the gaping plot holes, okay? I promise they're part of the fic. **

** Holy shit, that was a long AN. Longest I've ever written, I think. Cool. **

** Disclaimer: All things expressed herein are not necessarily mine, not necessarily those of my employer, and probably not necessary. **


	7. Of Anorexic Giraffes

The Dreams Within – Chapter Seven

7. Of Anorexic Giraffes

***

Paint. Icky, red, nasty paint. Ginny was covered, head-to-toe, with the troublesome substance. She stood before "Harry", her face contorted in apparent rage. A smile wormed its way across his lips, amusement dancing in his eyes. It was like the time when Sirius had.... covered Remus in green paint. In other words: hilarious. 

So funny that "Harry" almost forgot all about his worries and laughed. Almost. 

"It's such a shame, too," he said. "I was just about to warn you about that switch there on the floor–you know, the one you stepped on–which triggered the invisible bucket of red paint. Of course, I didn't know there was an invisible bucket or that it was filled with red paint at the time, but, nevertheless, I was going to warn you. Honestly, from the bottom of my heart." 

Ginny was silent for a few seconds. Then, with a confused look on her crimson face: "What heart?" 

"Ooh, she bites." 

"You are the most incorrigible boy on the planet. Did you know that?" 

"Harry" nodded. "Yes, actually." 

"At least you're in a better mood now." Ginny started walking off, completely ignoring the fact that "Harry" had just threatened to stop being Harry less than minutes ago. 

"Where are you going?" 

"I have brothers to kill. Duh." 

She strode down the stairs, and "Harry", a minute later, heard the kitchen door open with a bang. He stood still, still outside the bathroom door where he'd vomited the little breakfast he had eaten, waiting for Ginny's predictable yell. 

"You obstreperous morons! I'm going to kill you!" 

"Harry" allowed himself a last inward smile, even though it appeared outside also, and protruded down the stairs at a pace much slower than the Paint Queen. 

***

Ronald Arthur Weasley was aware of Harry's odd behavior. Harry hadn't touched his breakfast, which was unusual for his best friend. Though Harry had grown taller over the summer, he had not gained any weight to make up for the height change, leaving him looking like an anorexic giraffe. There was something conspicuous about his and Ginny's disappearance, besides the fact that they left simultaneously. Ronald–though more casually referred to as Ron–secretly suspected something going on between Harry and his baby sister, and even though Harry was his best friend, that would not do at all. 

Ron felt slightly better when he heard Ginny's shouts of "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU", but his elevated hopes were deflated when see saw his twin brother's snickering and whispering to each behind they're hands. They, not Harry, were the cause of Ginny's angry yells. 

Not even minutes later, Ginny burst into the room, not even recognizable at first. She was splattered from head-to-toe with what looked like red, Muggle paint. It suited her at the moment, went just along with the angry contortions of her face.

"You obstreperous morons!" she squalled. Fred and George cackled in delight. "I'm going to kill you!" 

"No death threats, Ginny dear," said Ron's mother quite calmly. She continued to eat her breakfast without the slightest indication that something was wrong. Ron knew for a fact that his mother rarely liked to disturb breakfast ("It's the best meal of the day!") and Fred and George and Ginny would get the yelling of their life as soon as it was finished. Nevertheless Ron knew that Fred and George would be punished more harshly than Ginny, because they had disturbed breakfast in the first place. 

"Yeah, Ginny. No death threats," taunted Fred. 

"Argh! I'm going to go take a shower!" Then, Ginny gave Fred and George a tightlipped glare and stomped out the room. Behind her: a trail of red paint drops that made Ron smile. 

Harry entered the room quite calmly. A smirk played on his lips, and his green eyes danced with amusement. For an instant, Ron saw the old Harry, not the quiet, in a way deceitful, boy that had arrived this summer. Then, as if a dark light shone upon him, Ron's old friend was gone. And before him: the deceitful, underweight giraffe. It was rather depressing. What had happened to his friend? 

"Well, don't just sit there, Harry dear," said Ron's mother. "Sit down–finish your breakfast." 

"I'm, er, going to check on Ginny. Be right back." 

A lingering glance caught Ron's eyes, and then Harry left. Yes. Something was definitely going on between Ginny and Harry. He looked, not for the first time at Hermione, and she, not for the first time either, gave him a very pointed glance, as if say to "I told you I was right. Why didn't you listen to me?" "Ron? Do you think something's wrong with Harry?" asked his mother's worried tones. 

I don't think so, mum. I know so. 

Across the table and two seats to the left, Fred asked his mother, "What does obstreperous mean?"

"I have no idea, dear. Ask your sister."

***

What was a best friend, anyway? Someone who you associated with the most? Who did things for you without being asked or thanked? Or was it just someone you could depend on through anything? Did best friends always stay best friends, or did they sometimes separate and go different ways? What was the difference between best friends and regular friends? Was there even a difference? If Harry was Ron's best friend, why couldn't he tell that "Harry" wasn't the real Harry? Should best friends be able to be fooled by imposters? 

"Harry" didn't know the answers to any of these questions. "Harry's" situation always left him with either no friends or with his girlfriend. Kyli. Did she count as a best friend? "Harry" considered her to be far more important to him than any friend. She was a soul mate. 

What was a soul mate, at any rate?

"Harry" was confused. And this was probably no help to Ginny, who was excitedly and somewhat morbidly revealing her plans for revenge, and hadn't quite realized "Harry" wasn't listening. Who would want to picture Fred and George without their clothes on, leastwise?

There was a knock at the door. 

"Not now, I'm busy." 

The door opened and Ron poked his head in. 

"Harry, I was looking for you. Will you come here a minute?" 

"Harry" shrugged, got up off Ginny' s bed, and casually walked to the door. After all, there was nothing to hurry about. 

Ron led them up to his room, and as they passed Fred and George's room, there was a small bomb went off. Or that's what it sounded like. 

"Does that happen often?" 

"Duh. After all the time you've spent here, you should know that." Ron's voice was short and choppy. 

"Who stuck a stick up your ass?"

"You." 

They had reached Ron's room. Harry looked at Ron in surprise. As far as he knew, males didn't get PMS, but maybe this was an exception? Either that, or Ron wasn't a male. (This thought almost most made him burst out laughing. He was not, however, able to suppress a smile.) The logical part of his mind told him that Ron was indeed a male, and probably did not get PMS. 

Ron opened the door and went inside. The door was left open, so "Harry" presumed he was supposed to follow. Hermione was already waiting for them inside, sitting on Ron's desk chair, facing the door, her slender arms folded across her chest and a frown on her face. Ron was sitting on his bed (not the extra that "Harry" had been sleeping on), with the same basic expression on his face. This can't be good. 

"Shut the door behind you, would you?" asked Hermione with harsh politeness. "Harry" obliged to her wishes. 

"Take a seat," said Ron. "We might be here awhile."

"Harry" sat on the temporary bed, looking between his two 'best friends' nervously. He knew this would come eventually, and he knew he must face it. 

"First of all," said Ron. "Is there something going on between you and Ginny?" This was spoken with raised eyebrows and a wave of contempt. 

"No. There's not. Me and Ginny are just friends."

"Since when? You and Ginny hardly ever talked to each other before this summer." 

"I can't explain it. We're just friends, that's all. I trust her." 

"More than us?!" demanded Hermione. "We're your friends, Harry." 

"She's my friend too." "Harry" was desperately trying not to lose his temper. "I'm trusting her with something. Something that I can't tell you because you wouldn't believe me." 

"Oh, yeah?" asked Ron. "Try us?" 

"No, Ron," snapped Hermione. "If he doesn't want to tell us, he doesn't have to. It's his life, he can choose how to live it. But I'm warning you, Harry Potter. You're not going to use us." Ron nodded. "If you're not going to tell us, then don't coming running back to us when you're in trouble. If you're not going to tell us, you've lost our trust." 

"Friends don't have to tell each other everything, Hermione."

"But best friends should be able to!"

"Harry" glared, but inside he was scared. He could ruin the real Harry Potter's life. He could mess with the future if he didn't do this right. His entire existence depended on this, didn't it?

"Ron, Hermione," he said. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you. I tried once, but it didn't work. It only made everyone more frustrated. I'd love to be able to tell you, but I can't."

"But you can tell Ginny, right?" asked Hermione. 

"Ginny approached me about it. I wasn't going to lie to her."

"But you'll lie to us?" countered Ron.

"I'm not lying to you. I just can't tell you. It's not like you won't find out anyway. Can't you just bear with me for a couple days? You'll know as soon as term starts, I promise."

Hermione sighed. "I don't think–"

Ron silenced her. "We can wait till term starts, but you've got to tell us, then. Deal?" 

"Deal. Do you mind if I go now? Ginny wants me to help her get revenge on Fred and George." 

Hermione looked at him as if she was uncomfortable and hurt by his request, but Ron allowed him to go.

On his way out, when he was sure Ron and Hermione couldn't see him, he allowed him a ghost of a smile. He still had it. 

***

Harry exited Ron's room in a bad mood. He turned the corner and suddenly found himself face-to-face with Ginny Weasley. She smirked at him. His stomach dropped. 

"How much did you hear?" 

"All of it. You trust me, huh? If I'm not mistaken, that's quite different than what you told me that night. 'I don't trust anyone, Ginny–blah, blah, blah.' Does this mean you're ready to tell me everything?" 

"Not here, Ginny. Let's go somewhere where we can be alone." 

Ginny smiled giddily. "It's about damn time you decided to tell me, I've been waiting forever!" 

"I never said I'd tell you. I said let's go back down to your room, where we can be alone." 

She grabbed him by the wrist and practically dragged him down the stairs. He tripped once, and nearly fell, and after that Ginny slowed down a little, but not much. Within seconds they were at her room. She opened the door, pulled him in, shut it, and locked it. 

She turned around. "Spill," she said. 

"I never said I was going to tell you, Ginny. How many times do I have to tell you?" 

"But you are going to tell me, aren't you?" 

"Harry couldn't find a word to express her excitement; she was practically bouncing-off-the-walls-happy. Her eyes were dancing with anticipation, and she kept shifting from foot to foot. "Harry" was highly amused. Who would've thought his life meant this much to someone? Not him, obviously. 

He had implied that once he trusted her, he'd tell her, in not so many words. And Potters always stuck to their word, right? That's what Sirius always said, though he usually said "A Black always stays true to his word" (which he rarely did, anyway). So "Harry" guessed he had no choice but to tell her. 

"Don't keep me hanging, whoever you are! Are you going to tell me, or what?" 

"Well, yes, but..." 

_TBC!!!_

A/N: Muahaha. And that's all I have to say. Would you believe you don't ACTUALLY get to find out who he is until chapter 11?! Sorry...(BetaNote: you know you aren't, fess up! O.o)

Disclaimer: It's J.K's. Though "harry" is actually mine.


	8. The Reflecting Room

The Dreams Within

1. Chapter Eight   The Reflecting Room

By: Lord of the Flame

Beta-ed by: Marcela W. 

***

Ever since the real Harry Potter got out of the Dursleys' silver sedan, (his life went down hill. Not only did he still feel guilty about Ced-- the Third Task, but also he felt an even more inexplicable hatred coming from the Dursleys. 

Harry Potter's family left him out on the road to bring in his belongings himself. What a nice welcome home greeting. He brought in his trunk, filled with strange things like a broomstick, five sets of black robes, one pair green, a magic wand, something called a Sneakoscope, some very odd-looking socks, and a picture book with moving photos.. The trunk itself was very heavy; it had to weigh at least forty to fifty pounds. It took Harry twenty minutes to get it to the door, because in his morose mood, he had to keep setting it down and taking breaks. Getting through the door was even more of a undertaking. It wouldn't fit if he carried it straight through the door, and if he tried going through the door sideways, the trunk would fit, but there was no room for Harry, even though he was thin. He eventually pushed it through the open door (ignoring his aunt's screeches of "Shut the door, you're letting bugs in the house!"), climbed over it, and dragged it through the rest of the way. This was, apparently, not a good idea, because his aunt came running into the room, squawking that he was going to scratch the new tile. Apologizing, Harry shut the door and carried the trunk to the cupboard under the stairs (as his uncle instructed), with the same amount of difficulty. One time when he stopped to rest his aching arms, his uncle barked at him to get on with it, because Harry was distracting him from his television show. 

Finally, after another twenty minutes of pure torture for his upper limbs, he got the trunk safely packed away in the cupboard and then went back out to the car to get his owl, Hedwig. He brought her upstairs to the smallest bedroom in the house, inevitably his room, which was a much easier task. He flopped down on his bed and rested for about two seconds, because then his aunt called him downstairs, for God-knows-what this time. 

His Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen, wearing a white dress and an apron. When he entered, she fixed him with a glare so intense, Harry could've sworn the walls shivered. He didn't wear any _expression on his face, because if he did, she would surely take it the wrong way, and he would get in trouble with his uncle, which he did not want for the sheer fact that his uncle was five times his size literally.

"You stay here and keep an eye on this water, you hear?" His aunt gestured to a pot on the front burner. "When it boils, come and get me. I'll be watching the telly with your uncle," his aunt said menacingly. She stalked out of the room without waiting for an answer. 

Harry Potter, since none of his relatives were in the room, pulled up a seat on the counter top something that would usually earn him a slap from his uncle and watched the water heat up. He must've been there for an hour already, and still not a single bubble arose from the bottom of the stainless steel cooking pot. 

There was a quiet rapping on the kitchen window. Harry turned his head to look. 

Peering out from the window was none other than Harry's godfather and escaped convict, Sirius Black. Now, normally, if someone's escaped convict godfather came to see them, the resulting emotion would be fear. But for Harry, it was delight, because Sirius wasn't really was a convict at all. He was actually innocent. 

He hopped down off the counter, and as quietly as he could, eased the window open

He whispered to Sirius, "What are you doing here?" 

"You aren't happy to see me?" 

"No, no, it's not that. I'm just surprised, that's all. Aren't you supposed to be wanted by, like, the _whole_ Wizarding Community?" 

"Well, yes, but... I had to see you before I left. I wanted to apologize for the way I deserted you after the Third Task. I should've stayed." 

"No, it's okay. You don't have to apologize. I understand. You're leaving? Where are you going?" 

"Yes. I'm going to Scotland, to see a friend of Dumbledore. I probably won't see you again until after term starts so I wanted to give you your birthday present a little bit early." He pulled out a cube-shaped package and handed it to Harry through the window. Harry was speechless.

"You didn't have to get me anything."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're my godson; of course I had to get you a birthday present." 

"Sirius--" 

"I have to go. I'll try to be in touch." He reached through the window and ruffled Harry's hair affectionately. A normal fourteen-year-old boy probably would've resented the gesture, but Harry didn't mind. 

"See you soon?" 

"As soon as possible, Harry. Bye," Sirius said softly."And you might want to watch that pot." 

Harry swung back to the project at hand, albeit a boring project. He gasped at the sight. The water had boiled right over the top of the pot and was spilling onto the floor. Harry almost panicked, if Aunt Petunia came in right now, he would be in huge trouble. He grabbed the pot's handle with his free hand, and tried to lift it off the stove to stop the over flowing. Water spilled out onto his hand. 

Hot! He yanked his hand away and the pot fell to the floor with a loud clatter. The water, suddenly jostled from the falling pot, splashed upwards and soaked the front of his jeans and tee shirt. Se shook his hand, but the excruciating pain wouldn't go away.

"What in God's name are you doing in here?" his aunt yelled, bursting into the kitchen. "Look at this mess! Out!" She shoved him out of the way. He clutched his hand tightly. 

He exited the kitchen into the hall (not the living room because his uncle was surely in there), and went upstairs. He passed one door, then entered the bathroom on the left. He set the package from Sirius on the counter. He ran cold water over his hand, trying to cool the burn down. It stung at first but it gradually cooled off and didn't hurt quite so much. 

***

If that was any indication that Harry Potter's summer would go down hill from there, he wouldn't have been surprised. For the rest of the summer, he turned into the Dursleys' servant and had to do whatever they asked, or there would be consequences. Harry wasn't eager to find out what these consequences were, so he just did what they told him to. And besides, all the muscles from doing the extra chores would give him more muscles for Quidditch, right? 

He missed Hogwarts. He always did in the summertime, but this time seemed even worse because his friends seemed to think that he'd dropped off of the face of the planet. He hadn't heard peep from them all summer, and it stung. Usually they at least sent him a birthday card at the end of July, but nothing. After awhile, he began to become angry at them. They were his friends, right? 

The only birthday present he'd gotten was the one from Sirius, a brand new wristwatch which had a button that switched it from a regular clock to one like the Weasley's. Using it, he discovered Ron was at home and Hermione was traveling, which probably meant she was with him. There was also a dial for Harry, which he though was clever, which would tell him if he was in "Mortal Danger". Also on the watch, were Sirius ("Traveling"), Remus ("Traveling"), and the twins (currently "Making Mischief")

Sirius sent him two letters, one shortly after he reached Scotland, and one in mid-August. Harry kept them both in the loose floor board under his bed, but he wasn't sure why, so his aunt didn't find him when she came in to clean up, because even though Harry was unwanted, she still didn't like a messy room. In Sirius' letters, there was always a line that read something like "Moony says 'hi'", so Harry presumed that wherever Sirius was, Professor Lupin was with him, which comforted him. Sirius had a tendency to be rash, and hopefully Professor Lupin could keep him in line. 

To add to his list of worries, his burn wasn't healing because of the extra chores. It was a nasty reddish color, and probably infected. 

On the 24th of August, Harry had a horrible nightmare. He was forced to watch everyone he cared about die morbid deaths (including himself, which was the odd part of the dream). When he woke up, his scar stung viciously. It was one of those odd dreams like the one about the Riddle House last summer; one that made him feel like it wasn't a dream at all. 

On the 31st of August, there was still no sign of life(take out the 'of life') from his friends. He began to worry about how he was going to get back to Hogwarts. Usually he spent the last week or two at Ron's house and went with the Weasley family, but that wasn't possible this year. He'd received his Hogwarts letter at the end of July, as per usual, with train ticket and everything. He approached his uncle about the situation that morning. His Uncle Vernon was gruff, but eventually agreed, just to get him "out of the house". 

So, on September 1st, it was time again for Harry to return to the prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Dursleys were no help at all, as usual. They dropped Harry, his trunk, and his "bloody owl" off at Kings Cross, and then drove off. Harry got himself a trolley, and entered Platform 9 and 3/4. He caught a glimpse of the of Ron and Hermione talking to a black-haired kid with their backs turned to him. Angry, he loaded his things onto the train, and went to find a compartment, taking Hedwig along with him for company. 

The compartment he found was at the back of the train, and empty. He intended to keep it that way. Even if Ron and Hermione did want to sit with him, he would refuse them. He didn't want anything to do with them at the moment. 

Ron and Hermione, or anyone for that matter, didn't come to visit.  

***

By the time Harry had arrived at the castle, he was in a foul mood. The last thing he wanted was to join his classmates in the Great Hall. So, instead of following them in and sitting down, he snuck off to a hallway on his right and kept walking, looking back for the first couple of minutes to make sure he'd went unnoticed. 

He followed the unfamiliar hallway until he saw a door that perked his interest. There was a plaque on the door that read "The Reflecting Room -  Staff Only". Ignoring the last part of the sign, he tried the doorknob. Unlocked. 

Well, they must not want to keep him out of the room incredibly bad. 

He entered. And was amazed. There was thousands of him. Actually, it was more that there was a thousand mirrors, all different shapes and size, that seemed to go on endlessly, but that could've just been an effect. It was quite obvious why they called it the Reflecting Room. Cautiously, he touched the mirror closest to him. 

_Welcome, Harry Potter--_

He yanked his hand away from the mirror, and darted his head around, looking for the voice. He checked his watch. Home. So he wasn't in danger. Perhaps... ? He touched the mirror again. 

_Welcome, Harry Potter. I am the Mirror of Immortality. Unfortunately, you are not immortal, so I cannot help you_.

Harry was shocked. These mirrors talked?! Steadily, he touched another. 

_Welcome, Harry Potter. I am the Mirror of Bad Fortune. Your fortune is bad._

Harry laughed. The mirror had a female voice with a sardonic tone. 

He enjoyed himself for a while, touching mirrors to find out interesting (though he already knew most of them) things about himself. He particularly enjoyed the Mirror of Calling, which told you why you were born (to die), the Mirror of Fate, which told you were destined to be with (the answer shocked him so much it made him blush just to think about it), and the Mirror of Moods, which told you all the moods you'd ever felt in your entire life in a very squeaky, loud voice. 

Walking forward, he laid eyes on one mirror he'd seen before. In all its magical glory, the mirror, with Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi scrawled on the top, was the Mirror of Erised. Overridden with temptation, Harry couldn't resist a peek in that mirror, dying to see his parents again. He stepped in front of the mirror, but his parents he did not see. 

Instead, he saw Voldemort, dead. It wouldn't have bothered him so much if he himself hadn't been dead, also. His heart's desire was to be dead? If that wasn't a note of suicidal tendencies, Harry didn't know what was. 

But wait, there was more to it than that. If his heart's desire was to kill himself, Voldemort wouldn't have been in the picture at all. No, his heart's desire was to defeat Voldemort, even if it meant killing himself in the process. A sacrifice. Life for life. 

_Woah. Scary. _

But that still didn't explain what Harry noticed about the picture next. A redhead was standing in the background, a baby in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

A/n: This is the edited version, now that I got my original Word Processor back. 

Next Chapter=very frustrating

Ahem... you have been warned.

Disclaimer: _Great cage_! …No bird…


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